


Fantasies

by Rooscha



Series: Fumbling Through & Making Do [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Thoughts, Depression, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 14:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6243703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rooscha/pseuds/Rooscha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ratchet refuses Drift's advances, small pieces of Deadlock surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fantasies

Ratchet always smelled like warmth and safety. Well, actually, he always smelled like solvent and scorched circuitry. But to a mech like Drift, used to the smell of energon and transfluid, he smelled like safety. But the elder mech had pushed him away for vorns, citing any number of excuses of why they couldn’t or shouldn’t be together. Drift had heard everything from age differences to recharge schedules. For each excuse, the barriers between them had thinned. Ratchet was a smart mech. Each excuse sounded less and less eloquent, less likely to stand as a reasonable cause to keep them apart. Towards the end of all the excuses, Drift wouldn’t even respond to the medic, he would just smile slowly and sweetly at the red and white mech before excusing himself and swaying his hips a little more than usual on his way out the door.

And every night he had meditated. In his past functioning, he would have just given up hope of wooing the other mecha and taken what he wanted. Dark fantasies played through his processor, thoughts of pinning Ratchet under him, shoving his spike into the larger mech and filling him to the brim with scalding hot transfluid. Flashes of Ratchet tied to his berth with a gag in between his mouthplates and oral lubricants trailing down his cheeks. Drift marking the medic’s chassis with stripes of transfluid, writing his designation glyph in the mess before licking his way down to Ratchet’s dripping valve. Keeping Ratchet in his quarters, stuffing him full of false spikes that would keep his valve well lubricated and stretched, but not enough to allow the medic to overload. Keep him wanting for Drift’s spike, for his fluids. When Ratchet behaved, maybe taking him to work and letting him sit at his pedes, content to sit with his master for a few joor before moving to suck Drift off during his break.

  
The meditations always broke harshly. Drift was a different mecha than Deadlock. Deadlock may have been deactivated, but it frustrated him to no end that these dark thoughts still intruded on a near daily basis. Rung had assured him over and over that these thoughts were completely normal, and happened to every mecha. Every mecha had a dark side, one that whispered to them in their most vulnerable moments. As long as he could still separate out the intrusive thoughts from reality, everything would be fine. Rung had even encouraged him to keep a log of these thoughts, noting that some of them could be acted out in a safe and consensual manner with a willing partner.

  
For tonight, Ratchet had once again rebuffed his offer of drinks at either bar on the Lost Light, so he was free to fantasize and enjoy the quiet of his quarters. He picked a favored vid and settled in for a night of self-enjoyment. The vid was a romantic comedy about a bot who hated his career and tried his best to keep his helm above water, while falling deeply in love with another bot in another suite in the building. For a while, both mecha steadily ignored the rising tension between them, before it broke and the dominant mech in the pair stalled the lift in the building and made passionate love to the submissive of the pair against the wall. When they were done, the little submissive mech went about his day knowing that the transfluid of his lover would leak out of his valve slowly throughout the day. By the end of the vid, both mecha were infatuated and bonded overlooking the vistas of Crystal City. It was usually the perfect mixture of funny, romantic and erotic.

  
Tonight it made him frustrated. He wanted to scoop Ratchet up against the wall in the lift and make love to him against the wall. He wanted Ratchet to do the same to him. Maybe they could take turns and each send the other off to work with their valves full to bursting. Imagining Ratchet dripping his fluids as the elder mecha tried to do inventory, look after patients and even perform surgery made the ex-Con moan and squirm on the couch. His spike hit its confines and demanded to be serviced. Drift groaned and released the spike into his waiting palm, visually inspecting his length. His spike was custom, red biolights running up the length, while white biolights lit the bottom. He enjoyed being able to see how much of his spike could fit inside his partner, even when the lights were off. With Ratchet, he wouldn’t settle with any red showing. Ratchet would have to learn to take the entire spike, long as it might be. Drift wanted his transfluid to be deposited as far into his lover as possible. The elder mech didn’t have a gestational chamber – he had drunkenly confessed this to Drift long ago, in one of his rants of why they couldn’t be a couple. Medics weren’t able to create. It was too much of a distraction and liability. For Drift, it wasn’t a problem. If they wanted sparklings, his gestational tank was fully functional. He would just need a trip to the medbay to remove his ground and he could carry for them.

  
Just thinking about carrying the medic’s sparkling was making his armor fluff to dispel some of the heat building in his chassis. The hand on his spike suddenly seemed inadequate. His other hand slid down his hips to his aching valve before he stuffed three fingers into his dripping heat. As a Con, Drift had preferred his spike. As a Bot, both were just fine. Being around Bots had taught him that there was no shame in enjoying the sensations a full valve could give. Fantasizing about Ratchet filling him to the brim certainly made him enjoy his valve all the more. Both of his hands worked in tandem, one hand pulling at his spike as the other drove into his valve. The couch beneath him felt damp, lubricants seeping onto the metal, making the surface feel cool in comparison to the heat pouring off his valve.

  
Imagining the push and pull of Ratchet’s spike in his valve, imagining the dirty things the medic would whisper to him, imagining the medic tying him in a breeding knot was all Drift needed to shout his imaginary lovers name and overload violently. The two mecha on the vid screen happened to be entwined in their own game of seduction in the elevator. Drift watched his favorite love scene with fondness as his fingers drew light patterns in the transfluid striping his own chassis. Ratchet’s designation glyph repeated over and over again, as he watched the mecha on screen spill into his partner.

  
With a heavy hand, Drift paused the vid and shut down his entertainment center. The couch could wait to be cleaned, but he could not. The transfluid was starting to dry on his plating, making him sticky in the cool air. The walk to his washrack was almost silent, save for the occasional creak of the ship and his own intrusive thoughts. As the solvent started washing over him, he groaned and rested his forehelm against the cool metal of the washrack door. Ratchet would probably never want him in the same way. There was no way that the distinguished medic had fantasies of Drift while watching dirty vids. Surely the medic had no fantasies of tying the younger mech, of Drift carrying his sparklings. Maybe it was high time that Drift stopped chasing the medic and got some dignity back.

  
Drift’s personal cleaning drone helped polish his armor to a shine, and all too soon Drift was reminded of the emptiness of his apartment. The starkness. The loneliness. With nothing else to occupy him, he settled into the berth to get some rest. It was still early in the night cycle, but there was nothing else to do. No one to see – Rodimus was with Magnus in their quarters. They had invited the sword mecha into their berth more than a few times, but he had always declined. He didn’t want to be a burden on his friends.

  
Just as he was starting to power down, a message popped up on his communication station, beeping gently. Not a message from Rodimus, then. The Captain always tagged his messages as the highest priority, meant to rip mecha from recharge. Curious, Drift reached out to read his message.

 

::Would you like to meet at Swerve’s for a drink?::


End file.
